Snake Demon
by poestheblackcat
Summary: Third in "Ghosts of the Past" stories. Minoan runes appear all over Alec's body. What do they mean and how are they connected to the Winchesters? And why is Alec Dean's clone? This is big, end-of-the-world big. Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover
1. Chapter 1

AN: Okie dokie. This is the promised sequel to my fanfic "Ghosts of the Past," which is a crossover between _Dark Angel_ and _Supernatural_. It is set in the DA timeline, some time after the events of FN, which means it is about 15 years in the future for the SPN characters. I also wrote a short story "Mistaken Identity," which takes place after GOTP. Reading the above stories is highly recommended before reading this fic, but according to a couple of my readers, not totally necessary. There are spoilers for both seasons for DA and definitely up to Season 3 with kind of vague spoilers for Season 4 of SPN. (At least for now. Later warnings will override this one.)

Again, SPN fans, the Winchesters will not appear until a little while into the story, so bear with me. They'll show up soon. That means DA for the first chapter(s).

Disclaimer: I do not own anything…Bummer.

**Snake Demon**

**Chapter 1**

_Seattle ,Washington_

_July 2022_

"Oh hell, no."

Alec stared at his reflection with something akin to disbelief. Now normally, he would take a cursory glance at himself in the cracked bathroom mirror just before his morning shower, but today, his vision was zeroed in on the line of tiny black symbols curving across his chest. And scrolling over his right ribs. His eyes moved upward to take in the tattoos appearing on his left shoulder. He turned around and craned his neck to see—

"What the—Oh come on!" Alec exclaimed. His back was covered with the same black writing that was on his front.

Joshua's slightly concerned voice came from just outside the bathroom door. "Alec okay?"

Frowning, Alec replied, "Yeah, just peachy. I'm breaking out in Ancient Minoan runes faster than you can say 'laser me'." He opened the door. "This sucks."

Joshua took in the markings covering his friend's torso. "Writing. Like Max."

Alec pouted. "Exactly. Except when it was happening to her, it was funnier. And hers took longer to show up. What's with this speed-tattooing, huh?" he said, looking down. "These definitely were not here last night." He scrunched his nose as he poked angrily at one of the marks.

Joshua cocked his head to the side to think. "Need to tell Max and Logan. Logan can find out what they say."

"Yeah. Okay." Alec sighed. "Well, I'm heading back in to take a shower first." He closed the door.

As he turned away, Joshua heard the water turn on. Half a minute later, he winced at Alec's disbelieving exclamation, "What the hell! They're all over the place!"

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Max looked up from her morning glass of milk as Alec strode into her apartment. "Max, I have a problem."

"What is it?" she asked. Come to think of it, Alec did look a little weird, like he'd seen a ghost or something. Okay, not really a funny joke, even inside her head after the events of four months ago. She was hit with a sense of deja-vu as Alec started taking off his jacket then his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Max cried, standing up, staring at the X5 stripping in her living room.

Alec stopped and put his arms in front of him in a defensive position. "Don't kick me just yet. I'll explain once I get this off." With that, he drew the black cotton over his head.

Max stared. Not just at the hundreds of tiny black symbols that could be seen on his smooth skin, but at the toned muscles of his torso as well. Nice view.

Alec turned. "There's more on my back. And lower down, but I'm not letting you see those," he said with a smirk.

"Like I would ever want to," Max said distractedly. The way she felt flushed seeing his bare skin made her feel uncomfortable. Maybe she was starting her heat cycle. Which wasn't due for another month. She swallowed. "We should give Logan a call. Have him get started on deciphering them, see what the message is."

"What do you think they say?" Alec asked, cocking his head to the side. "Yours say something like 'The Chosen One' and 'The Evil Apocalypse is coming' and Doomsday crap like that, right? Maybe mine say something about how hot and awesome I am."

"Shut up, Alec. I don't know what they say. I don't read Ancient Minoan." Max stalked towards the door with an exasperated expression. "Put your shirt back on, idiot. Let's get over to Headquarters so we can video 'em over."

"Yes, ma'am."

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Alec shifted uncomfortably. He had always known that he was attractive, even for Manticore standards—he'd been made that way—but being ogled hungrily by every female Transgenic within eye distance of the computer at the center of Terminal City headquarters while he had his shirt off was a tad unnerving.

The fact that the video connection did not seem to want to work that morning was also making him a bit edgy.

"Luke," he growled, cheeks flaming and arms crossed protectively over his be-runed torso, "What the hell is wrong with it?"

The Nomlie looked up from the bundle of wires he was fussing with and blinked owlishly at the blushing Transgenic. "I don't know yet. I'm trying to figure out why the camera image isn't transferring to the screen and the—"

Alec interrupted impatiently. "Can you fix it or not?" he gritted out. "Preferably within the next five minutes." He glanced uncomfortably at the she-sharks eying him predatorily.

Max smirked from her position nearby, leaning against the rail separating the raised platform from the rest of the room. "Aww, is poor Alec shy?" she cooed sarcastically. "And here I was thinking you liked showing off."

Luke cut the male X5's growling retort short. "No, sorry. It'll probably take all day to fix this if you want it done right away."

Alec scowled and reached for his shirt to the disappointment of the cluster of females standing in the room. "Fine. Just fine." He tugged his jacket back on. "Come on, Max. Let's go pay Logan a visit, and save ourselves some time."

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AN: Thanks to all the people who left me lovely reviews for GOTP and MI to the effect that they wanted me to write this story. Thank you for the support. Yes, this is a hint for you to click on that little button at the bottom of the screen and leave me a review because more feedback means more chapters and faster updates…*hint hint* Especially that now I'm on my Winter Break…


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here's the next chapter! Okay, not as soon as I said I'd post, but hey, it's up, right? Thanks for the great response!

**Chapter 2**

Alec thundered up the steps to Logan's place. "Logie, we're here!" he sang out as he threw open the rickety wooden door.

Max followed him through the door, rolling her eyes. "Hey Logan."

Logan rolled his chair out from his computer station. "Oh hey, guys. What brings you here?"

"Ancient Minoan tattoos," replied Alec matter-of-factly.

Logan looked at Max expectantly. "New ones? Well then, let's see them."

Max let out a very unladylike snort and pointed at Alec. "He's the one who's got them this time. And all over his body, not on just one area at a time like mine," she divulged gleefully, looking more like a schoolgirl gossiping instead of the kickass genetically-revved-up supersoldier she really was.

Logan raised his eyebrows and turned to examine the scowling male X5 from behind his silver-rimmed glasses. "Alec?"

Alec made a face at Max. "You know, you are having _way_ too much fun with this." He pointed his index finger at her, emphasizing syllables with thrusts. "I didn't make this much fun of you over yours. I'm the one who actually _found_ the first one! So what's the big deal?!" His ranting speech ended in a thundering whine and a pout. Yeah, real mature, Alec.

Max put her hands on her hips and scoffed. "'Didn't make too much fun'? Well, as I remember it—"

Logan interrupted. "Hey, guys? Not now. Not here, at least," he said seriously, trying to bring the level of maturity back up. Really, the two of them reminded him of squabbling children in a playground sometimes. Cute, but in a pulling pigtails to say, "I like you" kind of way. This was serious business.

He turned to Alec. "Are the runes the same as the ones that showed up on Max?"

Alec shook his head. "No, they're different. Wait, that's not right. Some of them are the same, but they're in different orders. Like words in sentences, I guess." He shrugged.

Logan nodded. "Makes sense." He gestured vaguely in the direction of Alec's torso. "Take your shirt off. I need to see those marks," he said absently as he stood rummage in his cabinet of electronics to look for his camera.

Alec raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I don't swing that way, buddy, but I gotta say, that's pretty kinky. Maybe Maxie wants to watch."

Max punched him in the arm, hard, as he began pulling his shirt off. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"That's gross. And don't call me 'Maxie'!" She ground out through clenched teeth. "It's 'Max'!"

"I want to take pictures," Logan said mildly, pulling the silver digital camera out. He blinked as he thought over what he'd just said, and hurriedly rephrased his statement as Alec started to smirk again. "I meant, 'I need to take pictures of the writing so I can translate the runes into English.'"

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_Click._

_Click._ The electronic clicking coming from the camera after every picture was the only sound in the room. The current situation, Max's ex-we're-not-like-that-boyfriend taking photographs of the half-naked Alec, Max's pretend current boyfriend, was a bit awkward for all of them. Logan cleared his throat. "So. When did they show up?"

Alec shrugged, relieved at the breaking of the silence. "I don't know. Sometime during the night, I guess. Woke up this morning and there they were."

"Hmm." Logan glanced at Max then back at Alec. "So Max didn't see them last night when—"

"No," Max and Alec both said, the former indignantly and the latter wearily.

"I don't…We didn't spend last night together, okay?" Alec added as an explanation.

Logan looked up from adjusting the viewfinder. "So the two of you had a fight or something?" he dug, genuinely interested in the state of their relationship.

"No, we didn't," Max said tiredly. "Look, Logan, don't do this, okay? Just…I'm with Alec now, and we're fine."

"The reason we weren't together was that Joshua and I had a guys' night in and Max had a gabfest with Cindy," Alec improvised. "That's all."

"Oh," Logan said, convinced. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have pried. It's none of my business."

"Damn straight," said Alec. "You done yet?"

Logan snapped another photo. "Almost. Can you move your right hand a little?"

Alec complied and looked down at the area where Logan was aiming the lens. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the design on the inner side of his wrist. It was different from the others, separate. It wasn't a rune, exactly, but the shape of the black mark was familiar somehow. He knew he'd seen it somewhere before.

_Click._ Alec brought his hand up closer to his face so he could see the mark better. A man's face, with bulls' horns on it. He frowned. Where had he seen it? He rubbed it thoughtfully with his thumb.

A touch on his shoulder brought him back to reality. "Alec? What is it?" Max asked worriedly. "Does it hurt or something?" Logan was looking at him with concern showing in his face, too.

Alec shook his head. "No, it doesn't feel like anything. It's just that I've seen this somewhere before and I can't remember when or where it was. It's like it's at the edge of my mind or something, just out of reach."

"Lemme see." Max pulled his hand towards her. "Nope," she said as she examined the tattoo, running her fingers lightly across the face. His skin tingled when she touched it. "Don't think I've ever seen it." She let go. "It's kinda ugly, though."

Logan peered at Alec's wrist. "What is it, a bull-man?" he asked.

Alec's head snapped up. "Wait a minute. I know this. I know where I've seen this." He gestured excitedly. "Dean's pendant. He's got a necklace with this weird gold thingy on it. It looked exactly like this." He pointed at his wrist.

"Dean? Dean Winchester?" Max asked. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Alec said indignantly. "You're not the only one with photographic memory, you know."

"Don't get your silk boxers in a twist," Max shot back. She sighed. "Do you think he's got something to do with Sandeman and this whole breeding cult thing?"

"Well, Alec is cloned from the guy, so he's connected somehow," put in Logan.

Alec plopped himself down on Logan's couch. He frowned. "Yeah, I guess." His head fell back. "This sucks out loud," he whined.

Logan sat down at his computer again and began transferring the pictures from the camera to his hard drive. "You know what? We should call and ask Dean about the necklace himself. I'll need to translate these runes anyway, and I bet the Winchesters know someone who can do it faster than I can. It took me a week and you don't want to know how many sources to just get the general gist of what Max's runes said, so any help with these would be great."

Max and Alec exchanged looks. "Okay," Alec shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to talk to them about it. Bet they've dealt with crazy cults before. Hey, maybe while we're at it, they can even tell us how to get rid of the Familiars. Call 'em up."

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AN: Okay, now we have an opening for the Winchesters to appear. And guess where they are? In bed! Mwahaha. I'm evil to stop right now.

So the deal with this whole "connection" thing: I love Dean's amulet and they've never really explained its significance to my satisfaction on the show, other than that Bobby gave it to Sam who gave it to Dean. But there's more to the whole thing in my story. I've thought of a really interesting (or so I think) story intertwining the supernatural elements of both shows, so keep reading.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This chap's all Sammy'n'Dean. Enjoy. Oh yeah—a couple of kind of vague Season 4 references, but not all that spoiler-ish. Whatever. You'll see.

Extra long as a Christmas present!

**Chapter 3**

The shrill sound of AC/DC in the still room woke Sam. Dean's phone.

Groaning, he turned his head to look for the offending hunk of plastic. It was on the table between the two beds. He squinted at the unmoving lump that was his brother on the other bed. "Dean. Phone."

"Yugeddit," was the only response he got.

Sam heaved a dramatic sigh and reached for the phone, muttering obscenities at his brother under his breath while he flipped it open. "Yeah." His voice was gravelly. He cleared his throat.

"_Dean?"_ The voice sounded a bit familiar, but it was hard to tell over the static.

"No. It's Sam. Who is this?" He glanced at Dean, who was finally pulling himself into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes sleepily while yawning big enough to audibly crack his jaw. Lazy jerk.

"_This is Logan. From Seattle?"_ the tinny voice prompted.

Sam blinked. "Oh right, Logan. Hey man, what's up?" He threw off the covers and stood. Watching Dean yawn made him want to yawn too, so he did, aiming the mouthpiece of the phone away from his mouth so Logan wouldn't be able to hear.

Apparently he still did though, since the younger man stammered, _"I—uh, you sound, uh—Did I wake you? I'm sorry."_

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kinda. We got in late last night." He glanced at the radio-clock on the nightstand. "Coupla hours ago, actually." He ran a hand over his face in a gesture that unconsciously mimicked his father. "It's fine, though. Why'd you call?"

"_Do you know anyone who can read Ancient Minoan runes?"_

Sam didn't know if he'd heard him correctly. "Ancient Minoan runes," he repeated. "Why would you want to know about Ancient Minoan? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Dean raised his eyebrows and mouthed at Sam. _"Ancient Minoan?"_ Sam nodded and shrugged. Dean ran a hand though his tousled bedhead hair as he shook his head. _Okay, weird._

Logan cleared his throat before answering. _"There's this 5,000 year-old cult built around selective breeding and worshipping snakes, from what I can find out, and basically, they want to take over the world by killing everyone else. About thirty or so years back, one of them, a guy named Sandeman, decided they were wrong and built Manticore in secret to make Transgenics. Now, the cult's main ambition is to wipe out all of the Transgenics, and Max is supposed to be our savior."_

"Savior? What do you mean? Like Jesus Christ, Savior?" Sam interrupted. Dean's eyebrows shot way up on forehead as he tried to follow his brother's side of the conversation.

"_I'm not exactly sure yet," _Logan replied._ "Last year, she started developing these tattoos on her skin that turned out to be Ancient Minoan runes. I spent a lot of time and effort to translate them and I was only able to make out something about 'The Coming,' 'The Chosen One;' just words here and there, and some short phrases. Then Alec woke up this morning with runes all over his body, and I was wondering if you guys could give me a hand with the deciphering."_

Sam frowned. "You mean they just showed up? Out of nowhere, just like that?"

"_Yeah. Apparently, the writing's encoded into their DNA. So do you know anyone who could help me out?"_ Logan sounded hopeful. The guy must have had a hell of a hard time with decoding the writing last time to sound that desperate.

Sam balanced the phone between his shoulder and cheek and booted up his ancient laptop. "Yeah, actually, we do. This guy, he's helped us out a few times with translating some Minoan spells and rituals. He's really good at what he does. But the thing is, he doesn't have a computer or a phone, so whatever you need translated you gotta actually take to him in person. And he's a bit paranoid, too, so he doesn't talk to strangers. I guess the best thing for you to do is to send us pictures of these runes and we'll go see him."

Dean's face would have sent Sam into convulsions of laughter if he'd been looking. Ancient Mionoan, Jesus Christ, and a paranoid translator? Okay, that last part made some sense. The guy was an old contact of their dad's. But the rest? Just like he always says. Demons he gets; people are just plain crazy.

"_Okay, I'll do that. Thanks for doing this." _There was a pause, and the buzzing sound of static filled Sam's ear._ "Is it too much out of your way, because I'd feel bad about making you guys travel really far for this."_

Sam shook his head as he peered absently at the scratched computer screen. "No. It's fine. We've traveled further for complete strangers." He let out a sharp laugh. "We're in the state anyway and we just finished a job, so we've got nowhere else to go and no other jobs planned. Might as well do a favor for a friend, right? And hey, do you think you could send all the stuff you've got on the cult with the runes? We've dealt with cults before and we might see something you might not have noticed. Going after one of those, especially one as old as that, without all the information you can get can be really dangerous."

"_Sure, I'll send all the files I've got on them with the pictures. Thanks, man,"_ Logan said, and seemed to end the conversation there, but in a moment he was back on with another question. _"Oh, and one more thing. There's one mark Alec's got that you might recognize. According to him, it looks like Dean's pendant. Does that mean anything to you?"_

"Dean's amulet? A head with horns? That's—" Sam frowned. This was an interesting revelation. "Could you send a picture of that, too? I wanna see for myself."

"_Yeah, sure. And thanks again, Sam. Dean, too."_

"Yeah, no problem. Bye." Sam hung up and turned to his brother to explain everything.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed expectantly. "Well? You gonna stand there or you gonna tell me what the hell is goin' on?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was gonna be a long—and very confusing—conversation. "Coffee first."

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"So you're tellin' me there's some crazy-ass 5,000-year-old breeding cult after those kids now? Not just the military?" Dean clarified later in the car. "Damn, that sucks. And the guy who made 'em decided he wasn't into prayin' to snakes anymore and wanted out?" He made a face. "Demon-worshippin' to playin' God. Now that's just messed up," he declared, and reached over to lower the volume of the Metallica song pouring from the Impala's speakers.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, seems like. Logan's a good researcher. He's got some pretty great stuff on this Sandeman guy, but it's not a whole lot." He shuffled through a few of the papers from the stack in the folder lying open in his lap. "Like this. There's a Dr. Carl Sandeman with an impressive number of degrees and doctorates in various branches of science and linguistics who used to work for the government. It says here he disappeared in the mid-2000s and there's been hardly a trace of him in the last decade-and-a-half, especially since the Pulse. Sounds like our guy, huh?"

"Yeah." Dean glanced over at his brother. "Ya know, I think the million dollar question is: why the freakin' hell are Mini-Me and Superbitch breaking out in Minoan runes? Minoan, for cryin' out loud. What's wrong with good ol' plain English? And why is my amulet tattooed on the kid's wrist? I mean, what the hell? It's just a protection charm, right? This is more than just coincidence."

Sam pursed his lips. "I asked Bobby what the amulet meant when we were kids, and that's what he said. There are hundreds of bull-man deities from all over the world, in lots of different cultures; there's the shedu or lamassu from the Sumerians and Mesopotamians, the minotaur in Greek mythology, Moloch and Ba'al from the Middle East, the Egyptians had Apis, and then there's the Ushi-oni from Japan, and the—"

"Okay, okay. I get the picture, geek-boy," Dean interrupted. He smirked. Sammy was no slouch at researching himself. "So, uh, what about this lamey-ass?"

Sam huffed in exaggerated annoyance at his brother's feigned idiocy and lack of patience. "Lamassu, Dean. In a lot of cultures, the bull or bull-man was sacred, but as later religions came in, the meaning got turned around to mean hedonism and devil worship, hence the horns on popular depictions on demons and devils," he lectured. "There's a lot of things the original meaning of the bull-man could be, like protection, life-force, power, fertility and virility—"

Here Dean snorted and muttered, "Damn right."

Sam ignored his brother's input and continued, "It could also stand for resurrection," he said, with a pointed look in Dean's direction.

That got the elder Winchester's attention. "Really? Huh. You think Bobby—nah." Dean rejected the thought and shook his head.

"I don't think Bobby was expecting anything even remotely like—what happened with you," Sam said uneasily, still not comfortable with talking about his brother's death and restoration after 14 years. "He meant for me to give it to Dad for Christmas, remember? Just as a simple protection charm." He shrugged the tension out of his shoulders.

Dean just kept his eyes on the road. "Yeah," he muttered. He wasn't really all that comfortable with the subject either, which suited them both just fine. So he changed the subject. "What about those creepy-ass runes, huh? Of all the weird languages we've come across, Minoan's always given me the chills." He gave a mock shudder. "All those little pointy, squiggly, dotty…angle shapes," he said, waving his right hand in a fluttery motion, as if trying to illustrate his point. "Creepy."

Sam had to smile at that. "What about Arabic? That's kind of squiggly, too."

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. It looks cooler, I guess. But Minoan's…creepy." He made a face.

"Okay. Whatever, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes and laughed. His brother was such a dork, but he loved him for it. "Well, we'll find out what they mean, apocalypse or not, when we get to Frank's place."

Dean just made a "hm" sound. A minute later, he started singing along to the muted song. "_So we cross that line/ Into the crypt—_Hey Sammy, this song. It's awesome." He turned up the music. "_Suffer unto my apocalypse!_"

Sam shook his head, amused. "_My Apocalypse_? Dude, I'm still amazed you managed to get this album on cassettes in 2008. Everything was _digital_ even then, dude."

Dean shot him an affectionate glance. "Shut up, Sammy. It's Metallica. Sing. Come on, ya know you love it. _Deadly vision/ Prophesy revealed,_" He set a loud example for his brother and reached across to hit him lightly on the chest. "_Death magnetic/ Pulling closer still._"

Sam grinned and joined in. "_Feel thy name annihilation,_" he sang—badly.

They'd finished the song and half of the other side of the tape when they rolled into Franklin Crick's front yard.

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AN: Lyrics from _My Apocalypse_ from Metallica's 2008 album _Death Magnetic._ Don't know how the melody goes because I've never heard it, but the words fit _Supernatural_ perfectly.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I know this is a ridiculously short chapter for such a long break from my last update, but I was busy over the holiday and then I got sick, and then school started, and I think I had/have writer's block maybe, and—all right, all right, I'm all out of excuses now.

Here's the chapter and make sure you thank tylee17 for bugging me into finishing this chapter. See tylee, here's my part of the deal! Now don't you go blaming me if it's bad. I warned you! And thanks to FirstBorn, too.

**Chapter 4**

Max sighed and put her forehead down on the cool surface of her desk. She was starting to get a headache, so she'd popped a few tryptophan tablets earlier. It was probably the beginning signs of another seizure that would incapacitate her for a while, so she'd need to finish this paperwork before it hit.

But maybe she could take a little break. She breathed in through her nose and relaxed the tense muscles in her shoulders while letting her breath out through her mouth. It didn't alleviate the pressure building up behind her closed eyes, though.

The door to her office opened and someone sauntered in, but she barely registered it as a flare of pain flashed through her skull and she grabbed at it with both hands. She let out a gasp at the pain and the stabbing sensation in her brain increased.

She was aware of hands gripping her shoulders hard and also a throaty moan that tapered off into choked whimper. Somewhere in her hazy consciousness Max realized that it was coming from herself.

Then _flash_—the pain increased tenfold and from the darkness that had fallen across her vision appeared something that frightened her more than anything she'd ever seen in her life. A pair of menacing eyes, glowing in the dark. Just that, nothing more, but still, it filled her with a fear that she didn't understand. The white-hot sensation speared through her brain and she cried out in pain.

And then it was gone. She heard her name being shouted in her face, and strong hands wrapped tight around her. "Max! Come on, answer me." Alec. He sounded worried. No, scratch that. He sounded panicked. "Wake up."

She blinked and the world returned to normal. Only Alec's face loomed in her vision, his expression matching his voice. "Keep you hands to yourself, perv," she growled.

Alec's features screwed up into a comically bewildered look and his hands shot off her arms. Without him holding her up, she slumped partly back onto the floor before she could reach out a hand to prop herself up on the floor where she'd fallen during her bad acid trip-like vision-thing. "Max? Are you…" He licked dry lips. "Are you okay?"

No, she wasn't but she wasn't about to tell him that. "I'm fine." Damn, her voice was raspy and her heart was still pounding from the indescribable fear she'd felt, and she was sure Alec could sense it, but she wasn't about to go all melty damsel-in-distress on him.

She struggled to get back up into her chair, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alec reach out to help her, but apparently, she'd scared him off because he stopped himself.

"Max," he attempted hesitantly, running his tongue over oh-so-kissable—_what?!_—lips. "What was that?"

Which was exactly the question that was running through her own thundering and hammering head. She winced and rubbed her forehead. She'd had premonition-type things before, like at the Jam Pony siege, but this was something different. This wasn't even much of a premonition—it didn't _predict_ anything. It just filled her with fear and she didn't like that feeling. It reminded her too much of her fine Manticore "education" and the years on the run after that. And it hurt like hell.

"Just a really bad headache," she said.

Alec gave her a skeptical look. Skeptical, but worried as hell. "Right." He wrapped his hand around her arm and tugged. "Come on. You're overworked and tired. Maybe you're due for a seizure, huh? You need to go home, take some tryptophan, and get some rest."

Max closed her eyes. Rest sounded good. And a soft pillow, mmm. She nodded. "Okay," she mumbled, much to Alec's surprise. That headache must be pretty bad if she was agreeing to stop working and go home.

But all he said was, "Okay," and put his hand on her back to support her as she stood. Make that "really bad" if she's letting him help her.

Max feebly shoved him off. "What'd I say about keeping your hands to yourself, Alec?" Never mind. Spoke too soon.

Alec let go and made a show of standing aside to let her pass with his hands up in plain sight, but he followed her staggering, stubborn, _fine _ass all the way back to her apartment, skillfully ignoring all the variations on "Go away, Alec. I'm fine!" she tossed his way. After making sure she didn't collapse in the streets or whatever, he saw her off at the door—okay, she slammed the door in his face to punctuate her final "Leave me alone!"—he shook his head in concern and returned to Max's office. There was still paperwork to be completed, incapacitated leader or not. He'd come check on her in a little while.

Max dragged her achy-headed body to the bed and wrapped the worn covers around herself. What was happening to her? First those weird tattoos (she was more relieved than she let on that she wasn't the only one with those anymore), then the freaky sixth-sense thing she had sometimes when she was in danger, and now this?

This was beyond weird. This was scary. Max shuddered as she thought of what she'd seen in her vision. A pair of glowing _yellow_ eyes.

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	5. Chapter 5

AN: Heeeey! Yes, I'm still alive. See, check my pulse. Sooo sorry I haven't updated in _(gulp) _almost a month. Classes this quarter are kind of tough, so I've had to cut back on my updating frequency. If you're one of my regular readers (thanks peeps!), you know that I _used_ to update about once a week or week and a half, but now I'm going to have to go with a longer interval, like maybe two or a _lot_ more like I've been doing recently. Real life sucks. ;P

And thank you ever so much for reading my story and reviewing—Wow, 35 reviews for 4 chapters! I feel _good. _Thanks everybody!

Right, about this chapter…_kind_ _of_ a filler, to tell you guys what's going on with Alec and Max before I go on to Sam and Dean. Doesn't really _go_ anywhere. It just is.

**Chapter 5**

Alec tossed the paper he'd just finished writing on onto the colossal stack of "Finished" papers to his right and grabbed a "Useless but Need to Read and Fill Out" sheet from the slowly dwindling pile on his left. He glanced at his watch. Half-an-hour more and he'd go check on Max.

Max wasn't really the cuddling type when she was hurt—at least not with him. With Joshua maybe, but other Transgenics held the belief that their CO was the sort who wanted to be left to lick her wounds alone. Alec was kind of getting the vibe that she wasn't really, that maybe she just pushed people away when she in fact wanted them close.

And so that was why he was planning on dropping by Max's place again to see if her shakes had set in yet. If they were, he'd stay, no matter how much she yelled at him and threatened to kick his butt. _Any_ comfort during those nasty genetic defect-caused seizures was welcome, right? At least that's how it was for him.

At that, he thought of how Dean had kept watch over him that night back in March when he'd had his own case of the shakes. And he hadn't made a whole big deal out of it after, much to Alec's relief. He was awesome.

Alec smiled. He'd enjoy meeting his biological family again, especially Dean, even if under these really weird circumstances—seriously, why couldn't those full-body tattoos have been in English? Minoan just looked…creepy. He pulled up his sleeve to examine the strange markings on his forearm again.

He suppressed a shudder and glanced at the papers near his left hand. Yes! Only two pages left. He put the whole of his genetically enhanced concentration on the task and quickly completed the forms. Then he stood up to lock up the office for the day.

There were still people milling about carrying on with their own work as Alec hurried through the city. Climbing the stairs to Max's place, he hoped that headache she'd had earlier was better. It had looked painful. Seeing his friend so vulnerable behind her tough chick act made him uneasy. He hated seeing her like that.

He'd walked into her office to tell her the new shipment of canned goods had come in when she'd suddenly grabbed her head in obvious pain. He'd rushed to her assistance but she was oblivious to his calls. Her eyes had glazed over and she had remained like that for what seemed like forever; in reality, it was probably something like half-a-minute, but it freaked him out. He'd shaken her and all but shouted her name in her face, even called her 452 to get her to react, but nothing worked.

Then all of a sudden, she'd woken up and snapped at him. She'd tried to shrug it off, but he could tell something was off about her. Especially when she'd agreed to go home for the day. But it wasn't just pain in her expression the minute she'd woken up from her trance-like state. It was fear. Max reeked of it, like a scared animal.

Still, true to form, she wouldn't tell him what was really wrong. Looks like Alec isn't the only one who doesn't know how to ask for help, or take it graciously when it is offered. Max is a big girl (figuratively speaking of course, looks-wise—_damn_, those curves), but she can't take care of herself.

He'd just have to _force_ his help on her. Alec wrinkled his nose. It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it; someone who's not scared shitless by Maxie's sharp bark and equally shark-toothed bite. He hadn't asked Joshua to look in on her because he was sure Max wouldn't want him to tell anyone about her being "weak." Something about betraying her trust, yadda-yadda.

When he cautiously entered the darkened apartment, his senses were put on edge by the _stillness_ in the atmosphere. "Max?" He whispered and headed towards the tiny bedroom after a quick look around. "You in?"

He noiselessly pushed the door open to find Max's petite form curled up under the covers. She was asleep.

But not for long. Dark eyelashes fluttered open and muscles tensed, sensing anther presence in the room.

"It's me. Sorry I woke you up," Alec said in as low a voice as he could manage. Loud noises were a bitch when you had a headache. "You okay?"

Max sat up. "Yeah." She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and ran a hand through her tousled locks. "What are you doing here?"

Alec shrugged. "Just checkin' in on you. Seizures?"

Max eyed him warily. He came to check on her? Why would he do that? She shook her head. "No, no seizures, and the headache's all gone."

Alec looked unconvinced. "Sure you're ok? Take your pills?" He crossed his arms at his chest and stared her down with a keen look, as if looking for cracks in her mask. His hazel gaze pierced through the darkness of her bedroom and pinned her where she sat.

She felt her walls go up. "Yes." And she was. She was perfectly fine. Her bottom lip stuck out unconsciously as she glared back up at him in defiance.

"Uh-huh." Alec sighed, shook his head, and all of a sudden, deflated. His shoulders slumped down. He ran a hand over his face and Max was struck by how tired the male X5 appeared. He looked at her with a serious expression. "You don't look okay. Something's bothering you, and that headache-zone-out you had today in the office wasn't normal. What's going on with you? Do you need to go down to see the medic?"

"No!" she spat out. "Nothing's going on and I don't need any help. I'm. Fine."

Alec huffed and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Come on, Maxie," he cajoled in an unexpectedly gentle voice. "Work with me here. I'm worried about you, okay? Talk to me."

Wait a minute. Max blinked. "You were worried about me? That's why you came?"

Alec raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Uh seriously, Max? Of course I'm _worried_ about you. You're my friend. _Friend_, Max. Remember? Jeesh. You're the one who's the friggin' Yoda on the topic." He rolled his eyes in false exasperation. "Care about friends, friends do," he squeaked in an intentionally bad imitation of the furry green puppet.

A small smile rose unbidden to her mouth at that. "Idiot."

He smirked. "At your service, ma'am," he saluted. He got a smack on the leg for that. "So you gonna tell me what's up with you?"

Max looked at Alec. Her friend. He was right. Friends care. Okay. She nodded, her smile from earlier replaced by a grim line. "That headache earlier? I…I saw something."

Perfectly sculpted eyebrows (she bet he plucked them—or maybe not, knowing Manticore) flew up. "Saw something? Saw what? From what I recall, you were staring straight at me but not _seeing_ me during the whole...fit thing." Scared the shit out of him too.

"Eyes. I saw eyes." She glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

Alec chewed on that for a short while. "Eyes. Okay. Um, what kind of eyes? Like, were they creepy stalker eyes, puppy-dog eyes, anime eyes, _The Eye_ (man, that chick was hot—kinda looked like you, too)—" She hit him again. "Ow! I'm trying to help, woman! Stop with the manhandling!"

Max glared at him. "Not helping." She sighed and went on. "They were yellow. Like maybe some kind of animal, I dunno, a snake's eyes maybe? A reptile—something coldblooded, anyway. They were just plain _evil._ And seeing them made me feel…" She stopped and shuddered. She didn't want to go on.

"Feel what?" Alec prompted her. He already had an idea of how it made her feel, but it would help her to say it.

Max took a deep breath and locked gazes with him. "It scared me."

Alec blinked. Huh, that was easy to get out of her; not quite what he was expecting, which was more along the lines of 'Never mind. Why am I talking to you, dumbass?' "Why?" he inquired, curious as to what eyes had to do with her fear. "Did whatever they belonged to _say_ something to scare you?"

Max shook her head, brown locks flying every which way. "No, they just scared me. Like I felt…_cold_, and…"

Alec saw the fear in her eyes, the vulnerability, and scooted closer to her on the bed. "It's okay, Maxie." He tried to think of something to make her relax. She was curled up as tight as she could get with her arms around her knees. "It's just stress. You were seeing things. Working too hard will do that to ya. I'm no Freud but it was probably snake eyes because you're always thinking about the Familiars, and you know them and how they are with their snake-fetish. Or maybe it means you need to get a little snakin' in the—"

Max whacked him again. He put on his saddest mock hurt face in his arsenal. Oh, the things he endures for his county. City. Whatever…Friends. "Ew!" she all but shouted. "No! No. It was like a vision. Or…or a premonition."

"Premonition." Alec frowned. Max had never told him (or anyone else for that matter) about the one she'd had at Jam Pony or any of the ones after. "You mean you think it's related to your writing and mine and all that apocalyptic end-of-the-world stuff?"

Max sniffed and shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "Well, I guess we can tell Sam and Dean when they call with the translations, right?" They'd know what to do. With all this weird-ass psychic stuff starting, maybe it was time to call in the experts on stuff like that. Because this new revelation had seriously startled him and Max's fear was sort of rubbing off on him too.

"No," Max said quickly. "What if…what if they see me as something to—" She bit her lip and flicked her eyes to Alec.

"Hunt?" he prompted, raising his eyebrows. "They'd never hunt _you_, Max. They're Sam and Dean. Come on." He paused to purse his lips. "Besides, even if they did, I wouldn't let them kill you. They'd have to get past me first." He smirked.

Max stood up. For some reason, that made her mad. "I don't need you protectingme. I can take care of myself." She glared down at Alec. "And what's with the blind faith you have in the Winchesters, huh? You've only known them what? A couple months, and you're ready to trust them just like that? You don't really know them. They _kill_ things that aren't human. Last I checked, _we're_ not completely human."

Alec got on his feet, too, and glowered back at her. "Seriously, Max? You're not bringing back the whole 'human/not human' argument, are you?" He broke eye contact and huffed out an exasperated sigh. "And what do you mean, 'blind faith'? Sure, I've known them only that long, but jeesh, Max. I know them better than you do. I know who I can trust," he said, his voice cold.

Max flinched at the hard tone. She didn't mean to hurt his feelings by saying that about Sam and Dean. But she wasn't about to back down. "Fine," she said with false bravado, "Just don't come running to me if they turn out differently than you hoped."

Ouch. Shit, Alec hadn't meant to make Max mad. Oh, who was he kidding, he was pro at "maddening" Max. If it was an Olympic event (he'd heard about those pre-Pulse athletic competition-game things), he'd have a gold medal for it.

But come on. Dean and Sam didn't deserve to have that said about them. It's not like they were out hunting Transhumans for sport. "Fine. I won't," he said. He'd like to win a fight for once, without it getting physical. "What is your problem, Max?"

Alec watched the 'What's _my_ problem? What's your damn problem?' look pass across her face and before she could draw a breath to actually voice it, he sighed. You know what? He changed his mind; he hated fighting. "You want me to go now?" he mumbled and dropped his gaze. Teasing was different, but fighting sucked. Twenty years of forced combat kind of left a bad taste for it in his mouth. Suddenly, he was sick of fighting.

What the—? Max blinked again in surprise at the abrupt change in Alec. She'd been getting prepared for a verbal sparring, but this, this was weird, like he just wanted _out_ all of a sudden. "Yeah," she eyed him warily. "I gotta go get some work done." Which was true. She'd had a whole stack of stuff left to look at and fill out before she'd come home early.

Alec turned away and walked towards the door. "No, stay here and rest up." He shrugged. "I did it already." His back was to her, so she couldn't see his face, but his voice was carefully schooled to seem as if he was "normal." Normal Alec.

But she could tell something was off about him. Was he mad? Did she hurt him that bad with her words? So she said the only thing she could think of to say: "You did." What? Even a genius had her off days, especially after a weird vision accompanied by a cranium-splitting headache.

Alec drew a deep breath and stopped. "Yes. I did." He turned, but his features were hidden, as he was silhouetted against the lighter room beyond the bedroom doorway. "Why, does that surprise you? I thought you were having your seizures so I did the paperwork for you." His voice was weary.

"Oh." Max pursed her lips and contemplated the inflection of his voice. Weary? Weary of what? "Thanks."

Alec turned and walked away from her again. He clapped his hands together in a smooth movement, the impact making a popping sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. "No problem."

Max followed him out into her living room. "You leaving?" She didn't want him to leave like that. She needed to know what was up before she could let him leave.

"Yeah." It sounded like more than that. It _sounded_ like, 'No shit, Max, I'm leaving. See me walking towards the door? That's called leaving.' It sounded like that, but Normal Alec would actually _say_ it with a cocky smirk. This Alec said the one word in a tight, impatient voice. Like he just wanted to get away from her already.

Shit, was he that _mad_ at her? For saying that stuff about his family? Hell, she'd pretty much bitten his head off when he'd said some not-that-great stuff about _her_ family (and had been right, not that she'd ever tell him). So why wouldn't he get miffed that she'd insulted his DNA pool?

She really didn't want him walking out that door angry. He was too good a friend to get into a serious fight with. "Wait, want something to drink before you go?" Max-speak for 'I'm sorry.'

His hand paused on the cold door-handle. Max wanted him to stay? She'd sounded like she wanted him out of her sight five seconds before. And now she was asking him if he wanted a drink? Must be that time of the month. Do Transgenics even PMS? But he was wandering from the main point. "You want me to stay?" Just to clarify.

Max shrugged uneasily and crossed her arms. "If you want to."

Alec moved back into the middle of the room, closer to Max. "Okay…" Equally uncertain. "So whatcha got?"

Max relaxed at Alec's wide—albeit slightly forced—smile. Phew, close call. "Milk."

"You're offering your much-suffering guest _milk_?" Alec exploded. "Maaax," he whined. Maybe he was pushing his luck, but—

"Well, you are part cat." Max threw over her shoulder on the way to her tiny kitchen. "Anyway, it's all I have."

Alec settled himself comfortably down on her worn-out hole-y couch. "Remind me to snag you some coffee next supply run."

So, back to normal, after a weird-ass "fight." He shook his head. Was it even a fight? Or a misunderstanding? Huh, maybe he should take her up on her offer to talk. They needed to get some things straight. But first things first.

"Hey Max?"

"Yeah?"

"You'd tell me if you ever have a vision of the winning lottery numbers, right?"

"Alec!"

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AN: I know, not my best, but I wanted to do something with Alec and Max with her telling him about her vision, and this is what I got. It's longer than usual for a "filler" chap, huh? Ick. Next chapter will be better.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: You guys are awesome. Thanks so much for reading and leaving me pretty reviews. Happy belated Valentine's Day! Er, or how about Happy President's Day for my fellow Americans?

**Chapter 6**

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The Winchesters hauled stiff limbs from inside the Impala and stretched. The long hours of traveling which the job required were not kind to the residual pain of the injuries they had collected over the course of over thirty years of hunting. Like Sam's achy-when-when-the-wind-blows-just-right shoulder and that twinge in Dean's back. And let's not forget those bad knees and the stiff fingers, and—well, you get the idea.

"I hate getting old. I hate arthritis. I never knew what Bobby was talkin' about until I hit forty, then—oh man," Dean groused, rubbing that tight spot—ooh, right there.

Sam glared at his brother from his side of the car as he straightened his ridiculously tall form. "Well, at least Castiel healed your body when he brought you back, but I've still got _all_ my injuries and they ache like crazy sometimes. And I'm taller than you, so—"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit your whinin'." Dean rolled his eyes. "I've more than made up for all o' the ones he healed since then. We're too damn young to have arthritis! You haven't even hit the big four-o yet. It's not fair." He cast an irritated hazel-green glare at the sky. "Somebody up there hates us. Again."

He sighed and looked with tiredly at the run-down house that looked like someplace they'd find a ghost or some other supernatural creature haunting. "Whadda you say we go see if ol' Frank's home. Would it kill him to make his place look…lived in? 'Cause right now, it looks real homey."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, probably. He's a paranoid schizophrenic like all other hunters. He'd want to keep away all unwanted visitors."

"We're not unwanted," Dean said.

His brother only shook his head. "Come on. Let's go."

Dean held up a finger. "That's another thing. Who's too _paranoid_ to have a computer? Or electricity for that matter? That's just unnecessary precaution. Even Rufus had electricity for his security cameras. The chance of something getting in to kill you is _exactly_ the same whether you have electricity or not. Seriously, man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Wanna prove that mathematically?" he teased and grinned cheekily at the glare his brother shot him.

"You go ahead, by all means. Geek."

"Dick."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Asswipe."

"Douche-bag."

The eternally juvenile Winchesters were so wrapped up in their name-calling that they both jumped and reached for their weapons when a dry chuckle sounded from close beside them.

"Jesus, Frank. You scared the crap out of us." Dean lowered his gun and Sam did the same beside him.

The tall white-haired man all dressed in black smiled slightly. "And you call me paranoid, do you, hm?" He pointed his heavy walking stick at the older Winchester. "I heard you coming from a mile away. That car of yours makes too much noise for a hunter."

Sam hid a smile as his brother scowled. "Now don't you go insulting my baby. You'll hurt her feelings." The old man was just pulling his leg, knowing full well that the Impala was Dean's soft spot.

Dean knew it too, since he added with a smug smile, "Besides, any car is good in this economy, but mine is the best. She got power _and_ she's got looks. Kinda like me."

Sam snickered. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

Frank gave a quiet laugh and gestured towards the house. "Shall we?" He stopped. "Ah, I almost forgot. Christo."

The brothers looked at each other and back at the old man. "Satisfied?" Dean said with his eyebrow raised. "We're not possessed, and we're not shapeshifters, either, by the way. We are so not cutting ourselves with silver knives. That's overkill, even for a 'paranoid' hunter. If we did that every time we met up with a hunter, then we'd look like a coupla cases of attempted suicides."

An odd look flashed through the translator's eyes. "Very well. I trust you. It's not shapeshifters I'm trying to keep away, anyhow," he said enigmatically and led the way to his dilapidated house.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged. _Weird._ But Frank's always been kind of strange, from their earliest memories of the old man, so whatever. All hunters had a screw loose somewhere. They had to have, since people who go out of their ways to chase monsters that wanted to kill them were "insane," as Dean had so eloquently put it once.

Once they were seated inside the house on chairs that looked as old as the old man himself at a table that matched, Franklin rubbed pale wrinkled hands together gleefully, the friction making a dry rasping sound like a snake slithering through the grass. "Now what have you brought me?" he asked. "It's been a while since you've come with a nice riddle for me to puzzle my mind over."

Sam pulled out the folder with the pictures of the runes. "Well, it's not too often we come across something written in dead languages anymore. They're not as popular as they used to be." He grinned boyishly.

Frank chuckled. "No, I suppose they're not." The scholar reached hungrily for the folder and opened it. He froze when he caught sight of the top picture.

The brothers' gazes sharpened on the old man. "What?"

Pale blue eyes rose from the picture held in trembling hands. "Which one is this?"

The Winchesters shared a confused look. "Which one what?" Dean prompted cautiously.

The old man moistened dry lips with a flick of his tongue. "Is this 493 or 494?"

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AN: Ooh, dun-duh duuun. So I guess you can guess what's going on and where this is going, but maybe I've written it so that you can't? *hopeful*

And yes, I know that 40 isn't old, but with the number of injuries the Winchesters have sustained over the years, they're bound to have some arthritis-like problems. Rheumatism and such. Right?


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Hey, sorry for the really really long wait that lasted ages and ages…*gasp* Over two months. I feel terrible, especially about that evil cliffie I left you with, sorry. School problems…okay, just at first. I procrastinated on some assignments, and that was all my fault, but anyway, I did a lot of writing in the last few weeks, and it wasn't _fun_ writing, I can tell you that. So I took a (not-so-) teeny break before diving back into fanfiction/fun-writing.

Thank you for your patience and for reading my story!! And definitely for reviewing. I love reviews. Cookies and hugs for everybody!! And chocolate. Yep, I'm bribing you, but come on—chocolate.

Also thanks for all the reassurances that 40-year-olds can get arthritis after the last chapter, hehe. I was kind of worried about offending some people, still being pretty far from 40 myself. I guess I needn't have worried.

And, getting back to my story…

**Chapter 7**

Dean whipped out his gun in a blink-and-you-missed-it motion and pointed it at Frank. His chair banged back against the wall as he shot up.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded, his eyes glinting with a feral light. "Tell me."

Sam gaped in confusion at his brother and the gun. What on earth? What were those numbers and how did Dean know about them? Why didn't Sam know?

Frank simply stared down the barrel calmly with a serpentine smile. "I know," he said, "because I am their father."

The 1911 Colt wavered. "What?" Dean's voice cracked. "You? You made them? All of them?"

"Yes." The old man blinked long and slow. "My creations. My children."

Dean kept the gun trained on Frank. "Why?" he growled, the disgust leaching from the low voice. "Why would you do that? How could you do that to those kids? Creating them to be soldiers," he spat out. "Letting them be raised by the freakin' military, to kill?! What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are, God?"

Until now, Sam's gaze had bounced from his brother to the old man seated across from him, but realization dawned at Dean's words. "Sandeman? _You're_ Carl Sandeman?"

The old man chuckled. "Oh, what's in a name?" he said lightly. "There was a time when I was called that, yes." He turned his attention to Dean, completely ignoring the firearm still pointed at his head. "You want to know why I made the Transgenics?" He raised his chin up proudly. "To save the world, my boy, to save the world."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, we heard about that. The girl's supposed to save the world from some cult and their evil apocalypse shit, right? So why make a whole army of these supersoldiers if you only need her?"

"While I'm curious as to who your source is," Franklin Crick/Carl Sandeman said, flipping through the folder of printouts with barely disguised eagerness, "I propose you put down the gun and answer my question, and perhaps then I'll tell you the answer to yours." The pale blue orbs flicked back up to meet Dean's.

Dean towered over the old man. "No deal." He waved his gun. "You spill first."

The old man continued to look unperturbed. "Hm," he sniffed in apparent amusement. "That famous Winchester obstinacy. From what I heard, it was passed on directly to the both of them. There were two of them, you know," he added conversationally and tapped the folder. "This is just one. I assume you've come across him and…become attached to him?"

He met the intense green glare with a level of detachedness a cat would envy.

Sam spoke for the first time since he realized who their old acquaintance really was. "The 493 and 494 you were talking about? By the way, what do the numbers mean?"

"You mean their designations?" A look of something that Sam could only describe as pride flashed through the old man's eyes. It sickened him. "They are how we kept track of them all. Each specimen had a unique code encrypted into their DNA, manifesting in barcodes on the back of their necks. This one is either 331845739493 or 331845739494. They're X5s."

Sam caught the miniscule twitch in Dean's expression. Dean had one hell of a poker face, and most of the time even Sam couldn't read behind it, but now he saw the slight shift in Dean's stance. Protectiveness, he recognized. Obviously, one of the two designations was Alec's, and the oldest Winchester knew it.

Dean sat, the handgun still pointed at the Minoan scholar. "Keep talking."

Sandeman sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Well," he said, "I suppose I'd better start at the beginning."

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AN: *Bounces in glee* I can't believe no one guessed who Frank really is…all the _snake_ references in Chapter 6, ya know?

The name "Franklin Crick" came from two scientists who were instrumental in discovering the double helix of DNA, Rosalind Franklin and Francis Crick. And "Frank" sort of sounds like "Francis."

You might be in for another long wait because I'm doing a research project on some aspect of the Minoan civilization, and since I'm planning on having a lot of Minoan mythology in this story, I might want to change some of the details in my story plan based on things I might find while researching. But I will try to get the next part out as soon as I can while still making (keeping?) the story interesting.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: So…another long break, huh? Sorry about that. I did warn you though. I did my paper on the Minoans, not on their religion specifically, but I came up with a lot of stuff that I can maybe weave into whatever my imagination provides and make a new mythology that uses aspects of both _Dark_ _Angel_ and _Supernatural_. Whoo—big task. So, here goes! This chapter is just one really long explanation of my half-made-up myth. Sandeman talks a lot. A lot. Hope it's not too lame or boring! I actually was going to have it longer but you can only take so much exposition at one time, right?

**Chapter 8**

"My people," Carl Sandeman began, "are originally from the island of Crete.

Dean tapped the gun on the table, making a metallic clicking noise. "Hence the Minoan writing. Go on."

The old man paid Dean's impatience no attention and took his time starting again from the beginning. "My people's origins were in Crete," he repeated. "There, thousands of years ago, the king of the land reigned supreme. You've probably heard of the most famous. King Minos, he was called. He was featured in the Greek Minotaur myth as a spineless and arrogant cuckold." He scoffed.

"The king in my people's stories was quite different. In the golden days of Crete, the king was the High Priest of the people as well. They worshipped a variety of deities, but the Mother Goddess Potinia held the highest position. The snake was her sacred animal."

"Do you know," he said, as if as an aside from his story, "they've found tables in the ancient houses and palaces that had grooves carved into the legs so that their sacred snakes could climb up and eat from dishes on the tabletop?"

Sam looked interested while Dean made a face. "Oh, that's nice. They had pet snakes. I hate snakes. Stupid Donnie and Marie, stupid ghost sickness" he muttered and shuddered dramatically.

"Anyway," Sandeman coughed and continued, "Potinia had a son, Diwe, was also recognized as divine. The priests and priestesses would sacrifice bulls to them and there would be great festivals held to honor them. Bull-jumping and feasting, libations, praying, even human sacrifices at times."

Looking at the reminiscing expression in the old storyteller's face, Dean almost thought he might burst out in a "good old days" speech. He certainly looked it at any rate. Great.

Sam noticed Dean's mind wandering and shot him a look. 'Pay attention, dude.' He glanced at the gun still in Dean's hand. 'And put that thing away before you hurt someone.' Their silent communication system worked so well that Sam could send all that and be sure that he was understood. Not that Dean always "listened."

Sandeman's cultured voice cut into their wordless conversation. "Then around 1600 BC, the volcano on the nearby island of Thera erupted, leaving chaos in its wake. In one fell swoop, the Cretan Priest-King lost all credibility and his peoples' faith in him wavered. This allowed the mainland Greeks from Mycenae to take control of the island, and the great days of Crete ended then."

Sam nodded as he recalled his Ancient Greek history. Archaeological discoveries in the past century had uncovered some of Crete's past but not much.

Sandeman's voice turned bitter. "Those whom I call my people are the descendants of those who remained faithful to the king. Our stories tell of how Diwe had always longed for more power, and of how he laid low, waiting for the opportune time to take control."

Watery blue eyes looked far away into the past, through the dirty walls of the old house and across thousands of miles of land and ocean to the small island in the Aegean. "Then the volcano and the earthquakes occurred and Diwe took action against his mother Potinia. There was a battle, and it ended with Potinia taking refuge in a cave in the mountains. There, she nursed her wounds. When she had regained her strength, she mated with a snake and bore another son, Ijerejo. This son grew rapidly and soon was strong enough to avenge his mother."

Dean leaned forward, interested. War, finally. War he got. Mating with snakes was gross, though.

Sandeman took a sip of his now-cold tea and grimaced. "Ijerejo used his mother's snake as his emblem and declared war on Diwe, who had taken the sacred bull as his crest. He gathered followers, those who still worshiped Potinia, as his soldiers. The war fought now, the _Mewijo Makawo_, 'little battle,' we call it, ended with Diwe once again the victor." The ancient language rolled easily off of the old man's tongue.

"The second war, the _Mezoemi Makawo_, 'great battle,' was terrible. It ravaged the countryside, the palace at Knossos, the power center of the island, was burned down, and the land it stood on cursed. The palace was never rebuilt. Ijerejo lost. His body was too weak." Sandeman raised a finger.

"But before his death," he said ominously in a low voice, "he prophesized that he would return to lead them and the faithful would once again be powerful and they would rule the world. He fed them each a drop of his own blood to make them stronger."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. Feeding magically-charged blood to humans to change them was a concept they were all too familiar with.

The ex-Familiar's blue eyes blazed. "These faithful he called the _Mujomeno_, 'initiates,' and to this day, that is one of the names my people refer to themselves by. These first Mujomeno were instructed to keep the 'god-blood,' _pade-wono_, strong in their children by mating with specially chosen partners. Those children with enough 'god-blood' in their veins would survive the 'death rain' that would cover the earth heralding his arrival.

"And so," Sandeman concluded his history lesson, "My people have lived in hiding from the world for thousands of years, breeding with partners selected for their genetic qualities. Ijerejo left us with a way to test if the _pade-wono_ flowed in our children's blood. It grew into an elaborate ceremony, a coming of age initiation ritual. The third child, third because the first two births were slain to symbolize the pure human first followers of Ijerejo in the _Mewijo _and_ Mezoemi_ battles, the third child would be taken at the age of seven and cut with a knife coated with the blood of a special snake, one of the descendants of Potinia's sacred snakes, Ijerejo's brethren."

The brothers frowned at each other. "A test," Sam said. "So how would you know if they did have this god-blood?"

"Because of the unavoidable diluted blood caused by outbreeding," Sandeman explained, "the venom would sicken the child, and depending on whether he had the antigens necessary to fight the poison, he would either die or live. Those who lived were initiated into the group and taught the Mujomeno ways."

His face darkened and he sighed. "I was a fully participating member of the group's activities. I was a renowned scientist and also acted as the librarian of the Mujomeno, one of the best scholars they had. But when my last sons were born, I became uneasy."

"Sons? I thought you said the first two were killed," Dean interjected, the first words he had said in a long while.

Sandeman nodded. "The first two were killed, but the third pregnancy resulted in twins. They shared the same birth, so according to our ways, I could not kill either, like I killed their mother after her duty was fulfilled."

His blue gaze was unrepentant and the statement was uttered in a matter-of-fact manner that the Winchesters found repugnant. Their lips curled back in distaste. Dean's hand clenched white around his gun.

The old man noticed their repulsed expressions. "At the time, I was a faithful believer of their customs. I loved my wife, but I had been schooled since I was very young to be loyal to my people. That soon changed, as you will hear in a minute."

Sam shifted uneasily and the muscle in Dean's jaw twitched. His hand itched to reach for his gun. But they said nothing and let the man talk.

"As I said," continued Sandeman, "I was a scientist, so I had access to the equipment necessary to test their blood. They were fraternal twins. The first twin, Ames, would pass the test, but my younger, Carl Junior, would not. My son was going to die if I didn't do anything about it. I thought that perhaps if I hid him, they might not find him, and as it turned out, that did work for a while."

Sandeman glanced at the tense and impatient features of his two visitors. "But to return to my story, I tested both their blood. This was in 1988. I'd been working on a line of super-soldiers for the military, using the best parts of a variety of DNA to create the perfect soldier. The project was still in its early stages, but it made me think. I loved, love," he corrected, "both my sons. Why did one have to die, poisoned, and with the permission of his own father?"

His voice increased in volume. "Why did anyone have to die? What was so special about the Mujomeno that they should be the only ones left once Ijerejo returned to rule the earth? Didn't everyone else have the right to live?" By this time, his arms were raised to punctuate his questions and his face was turned up towards the heavens.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam and whispered, "Glorified mad scientist, anyone?" The "mad scientist" referred to apparently didn't hear, or didn't care, as he continued detailing his plan.

"And that was the way I landed on the perfect way to resist the Mujomeno." Sandeman smiled in grim satisfaction. "I would use my work to hide my research for the antigen DNA code to guard CJ from the venom. If I could get it to work on him, then it would work for everybody else on the earth. The whole world could potentially be saved from the 'rain of death' that Ijerejo prophesied would kill off everyone but his chosen."

The old man leaned forward. "If I succeeded, I could save the world."

DASPNDASPNDASPNDASPNDASPNDASPNDASPNDASPN

AN: So how was that mythology, huh? Could you tell where "real" Minoan mythology and facts left off and my ideas began? Could ya, huh? I did a bunch of fanfic research when I should have been doing homework research.

I found a Minoan-English dictionary with phonetic transcriptions of the symbols. I tried to stick to the original meanings but had to improvise sometimes.

"Po-ti-ni-a" is the name of a goddess, meaning "The Great Lady."

"I-je-re-ja" actually means "priestess." But it sounds like…something—plot stuff I can't give away yet—and "-o" seems to make certain words masculine in Minoan, so…anyway hint-hint.

"Di-we" is the name of a god, perhaps a version of "Zeus."

"Ma-ka-wo" is "battle," and "me-wi-jo" means "little in quantity" and "me-zo-e-mi" means "much in quantity."

"Pa-de" is "god" and "wo-no" is "wine"—wine was very important in the Minoan culture, so borrowing from Christianity, I made wine symbolize blood. To my knowledge, that is not part of the Minoan culture, just to let you know.

Otherwise, bulls really were a big deal, as were snakes, and they did have a Mother Goddess who was also portrayed as a Snake Goddess, and there was also this young god who wasn't as important but was still big. The eruption of Thera around 1600-1627 BC caused a lot of trouble in the Aegean area environmentally, which I suppose affected the political system (that's what my paper was about). The Mycenaeans occupied the Palace at Knossos for about 300 years but then it burned down for some unknown reason (ooh, maybe it was supernatural, hehe).

I tweaked a couple of the DA ages a little, but just the ones that weren't common knowledge, like when White and CJ were born. The only way I could think of so that both Ames and CJ would be alive was that they were twins and the cult didn't have rules on how to deal with a fourth child.


End file.
